


By Now I Should be Used to the Cold

by dancingsweetheart129



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sad, Warning: Dog Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23651335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancingsweetheart129/pseuds/dancingsweetheart129
Summary: Mister Kent,” Alfred said from the doorway, motioning to Jon, who waved at them.“Thanks for coming over, Jon,” Dick said, giving the boy a smile.“I’m sorry about Titus,” Jon said, wringing his hands, glancing around the room. “Where’s Damian?”“That’s actually why I called you here,” Bruce said, clearing his throat. “Damian is up in his room. He won’t talk to us, he hardly eats. We were hoping you might be able to cheer him up.”“Oh,” Jon mumbled. He glanced over as Tim pulled a bowl out of the microwave, a dish towel wrapped around it so it didn’t burn him. He stuck a spoon in it and marched it over to Jon, gently placing it in his hands. “But what can I do?”“Be his friend,” Tim said, gently squeezing Jon’s hands around the bowl. “And bring him lunch?”
Relationships: Jonathan Samuel Kent & Damian Wayne, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 2
Kudos: 117





	By Now I Should be Used to the Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in the aftermath of losing my own dog a month or so ago. I got her around the same age Damian would have gotten Titus, though I imagine he lived for maybe 7 or 8 years because great danes are not known for long life spans.

The third day wasn’t any better.

Damian was still has the toy in a death grip, wrapped in his arms so tight that no one could pry it from him. The thing was black and white checkered, 16 little squares, each containing a squeaker. It also had a head and little arms and legs, and the cow’s head contained a rattle that made noise whenever Damian rolled over in his sleep.

It was dirty, years worth of slobber making the white dingy and stiff. Many of the squares seams had been stitched up meticulously by Alfred when Damian begged him to, because it was Titus’ favorite toy, he hadn’t meant to tear it. Only about a third of the squeakers even worked anymore, most of them dented in or punctured from years of play. And it smelled stale and old, like fur and dog breath and Titus when he needed a bath.

But for two days, the thing hadn’t left Damian’s arms. He clutched it while he slept, and he stayed wrapped around it while he was awake and lying in bed staring at the spot Titus used to sleep beside him.

“He’s heartbroken,” Dick whispered, glancing at Bruce over his shoulder. “Titus was the only thing that he ever loved unconditionally.”

“He hasn’t even come out of his room yet,” Bruce said, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder to lead him out. He gently and silently shut the door before they continued down the hall to the stairs. “He won’t talk to anyone, he hardly eats.”

“I tried yesterday, B,” Dick shrugged. “He won’t even look at me. I haven’t seen him like this, ever. I’m worried.”

“Me too,” Bruce sighed. “I asked Clark to send Jon over today, I’m hoping he’ll be able to help.”

Dick gave Bruce a sympathetic smile and a pat on the shoulder as the headed down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

“Any luck?” Tim asked when they walked in. He had come to the manor when Bruce had called and told him Titus was fading, and he and Conner had yet to go back to their apartment after seeing Damian withdraw in such a severe way.

“He’s still asleep,” Dick shook his head, sitting on a stool beside Conner at the kitchen island. Tim was at the sink, scrubbing Titus’ food bowl. It hadn’t been used in a few days as Titus had lost his appetite, and leaving food sitting in it was not a good idea.

“Maybe we should call Krypto over,” Kon suggested, and Tim turned around, giving him a sad smile.

“I think it’s too early for him,” Tim said, reaching across the island to squeeze his husband’s hand. “Krypto is a lot of energy, kind of the opposite of how Titus was.”

“That dog sure could read a room,” Dick said with a chuckle. “B, remember when you and Damian were arguing about something, and Titus would nudge you to be pet until you calmed down. He was so subtle about it.”

“I remember when I’d have a bad day at work and come home and it’s like he knew,” Tim shook his head as he dried the dish with a towel. “As soon as I walked in the door he’d come trotting over and lead me somewhere to sit down and put his head in my lap. Looked at me like I was the only being in the world.”

He room sighed as the heavy air fell again, the distinct feeling of the house being a little more quiet, a little less bright.

“I miss him,” Tim said, nodding as he gazed into the ceramic bowl in his hands. He took it and set it back on the floor beside it’s mate.

“We all do,” Bruce said, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulder. “I think when Damian is ready, having Krypto over would be a good idea.”

Bruce smiled over at his son-in-law, who beamed at his idea. He looked down, however, when the cat rubbed it’s face up against his leg.

“Not even the cat will get him out?” Kon asked, reaching down to scratch under Alfred’s chin.

“I tried that too,” Bruce shook his head. “Alfred won’t go near his room, he runs away if we even get close. I think he knows Damian is in a bad mood.”

“He’s not just in a bad mood, Bruce, he’s depressed,” Tim said, stepping away with an eye roll. He went back to the sink, taking out a glass and filling it with water. “You remember how bad I got when-“

Tim’s eyes flicked to Kon, and he took a sip of his water.

“You weren’t so quiet,” Bruce shook his head.

“You’re right, I couldn’t stop crying for a few days,” Tim nodded. “But Damian’s not like that, he never has been. If anyone knows what depression looks like, it’s me.”

“Even if Tim’s right, Damian won’t talk to us, how are we going to get him to talk to someone else who can help?” Dick asked, glancing at Bruce as the doorbell rang.

“He just needs a bit of time,” Bruce said with a sigh. “He needs some time to mourn.”

“It’s almost lunch time,” Tim sighed, going to the fridge where Alfred had stored a large container of Damian’s favorite vegetable soup. It was the only thing that Damian would eat, even if it was only a few bites. “Oh, Bruce, the vet called. Titus’ ashes are ready whenever we wanted to pick them up.”

“Damian will want to go when he’s ready,” Bruce nodded.

“Mister Kent,” Alfred said from the doorway, motioning to Jon, who waved at them.

“Thanks for coming over, Jon,” Dick said, giving the boy a smile.

“I’m sorry about Titus,” Jon said, wringing his hands, glancing around the room. “Where’s Damian?”

“That’s actually why I called you here,” Bruce said, clearing his throat. “Damian is up in his room. He won’t talk to us, he hardly eats. We were hoping you might be able to cheer him up.”

“Oh,” Jon mumbled. He glanced over as Tim pulled a bowl out of the microwave, a dish towel wrapped around it so it didn’t burn him. He stuck a spoon in it and marched it over to Jon, gently placing it in his hands. “But what can I do?”

“Be his friend,” Tim said, gently squeezing Jon’s hands around the bowl. “And bring him lunch?”

Jon nodded.

* * *

“Hey, Dames,” Jon said, gently pushing his bedroom door open. Damian’s back was to him, curled up around a dog toy. He hurried in and set the hot bowl on the nightstand, careful to not spill it. “Your dad called me. I’m so sorry about Titus.”

Damian didn’t respond.

Jon said down beside him and put a hand on his hip.

“I brought you some lunch,” Jon said. “Tim thought you might be hungry.”

Still nothing.

Jon sighed and floated over the bed, settling in the empty space that Damian was staring a hole into.

“There you are,” Jon said, giving him a smile, and Damian’s eyes flicked to his face, seeming to process that someone was there with him finally.

But then his face scrunched up in anger and he snarled and shoved Jon off of the bed, and he landed on the floor with a loud thud.

“Don’t sit there!” Damian shouted, sitting up slightly.

“Dames-“

“Get out!” Damian yelled, and Jon sighed, getting up and heading for the door, but something made him pause.

Damian said something to him.

When he had talked to Bruce, he said Damian wouldn’t talk.

“You know, everyone is really worried about you, Damian,” Jon said, turning on his heel just in time to see Damian sitting up against his pillows, clutching that toy to his chest as he pulled his knees up, still curling in on himself. “Maybe we should get you in the shower? Eat something?”

“I told you to get out,” Damian growled, glaring at the foot of his bed. “Leave me alone.”

“Dames, you can’t just sit here and be a statue,” Jon said, sitting back down where he was originally, now by Damian’s feet since the older teen moved. “C’mon, it’s not healthy.”

“I said leave me alone!” Damian snarled, clutching the toy tighter. He was just getting madder and madder, and it gave Jon an idea.

“What’s this you’re holding?” Jon asked, reaching a brave hand out to touch the toy in Damian’s arms.

“Don’t touch it!” He screeched, yanking it away. “Go away!”

“Damian, come on,” Jon said with an eye roll. If he was going to get a big reaction out of Damian, he’d have to do something drastic, he’d have to-

“He was just a dog.”

Damian fell eerily silent again, though this time Jon could feel the anger rolling off of him in waves, making the room feel like the air was sucked out of it.

“He was not just a dog,” Damian hissed, his voice low and dangerous. “He was my first friend, the only friend I ever had for years. He was smart and loyal and kind and he loved me when no one else dared to.”

“Dames-“

“He never saw me as a murderer or broken or any of the horrible things I was,” Damian said, his voice getting louder. “Or still am. He didn’t judge me or tell me I was wrong about things I didn’t understand.”

“Damian-“

“He taught me how to love another living thing, something I had never truly felt before, and he didn’t do that because he had to, he did it because he was that kind of creature,” Damian shouted. “He was my best friend, don’t you dare say he was just a dog!”

And then there were tears in Damian’s eyes, and he was sobbing.

“I know,” Jon nodded, reaching out a hand to put on Damian’s shaking shoulder. “But you needed to tell yourself.”

Damian pitched forward into Jon’s arms, sobbing into his flannel shirt as he dropped the toy to their laps and clutched at Jon’s arm that circled him.

“Titus wasn’t just a dog, Damian,” Jon said, running a hand through his hair. “He was the best. It’s okay to feel so upset.”

Damian continued to sob, even when the rest of his family came upstairs at the sound of yelling and screaming. They gathered around the pair on the bed, enveloping the two teens in a hug.


End file.
